Ah yes. The strings sound so delightful today.
They echo so wondrously with just the slightest bit of restless dust to produce that harmonic emphasis of realism to those prepared to experience the climatic melody.
A clash of the bow upon my weapon of expertise shall dedicate a demise to all these people that gape, ape-mouthed upon the performance of thee.
A scent just as delectably sweet permeated the auditorium, pronounced by the sickening drip of moisture flooding from the pores of my bod. They have come yet again for a show, not just the fine arts of music or my rendition of Paganini's Caprice No. 5.
*NO!*
These plebians are here to look on in awe like baboons to a fire. So, I shall indeed entertain and dance to their tune like the puppet that I am. For, when they believe I am such a puppet they cannot comprehend that they are in my control.
'Ugh!' That light above is made for me to breed such a nuisance which slides so harshly, burning the temples. I'll tell that technician a piece of my mind for the next performance.
The cool sweat swiped over my fingertips as I strung the bow back, creating a shrill that bounced over the artistically ingenious design of the auditorium. Various concaves and convexities were constructed to enhance the sound solely for the pleasure of consumers.
'Now… let's really get this event started.'
Flower beds were planted on either side of the stage with an open roof auditorium making the night sky both chilling but soothing to the people that wear their fur coats and look on with a monocle in one eye or the other. Tales of my extravagant performances have been rumored selling out for a while now. These rambunctious crowds were simply the late comers for my expense. Those who swore not to attend but ended in doing so for one reason or another.
As these aloof fools, lined to the brim with sparkling jewels and exotic gems that could burn the eye, gaze with a slack-jawed expression I can only feel myself blaze with an overwhelming heat. They had never seen nor heard in person the archaic arts of such in-person beauty. Quite honestly dazzled by the swift and acrobatic movements I perform without losing a second of concentration on this extremely difficult piece.
They have come for my show, not the music of Paganini; they don't even know his name. One that is better suited to not be heard from such venomous lips.
Retracting the bow up and to the side after a pleasant shriek, I twirl the ends of my fingertips feeling the power at hand. A specific electric shock companioned with the smell of ambrosia passed near, announcing my work at play. Yet, I continue with the music while I wait for the perfect setup to the climax to manifest.
The flowers of pink, red, and orange petals come rocketing to me then halt at the movement of my blistered tips playing along the fingerboard. Once done they flutter to the flow of the bow forming circles lifting small glints of metal to give off that sparkle which would catch these people's eyes. Rising ever up and into a whirlpool of colors that brought before an epileptic man would surely cause a seizure or two. These petals then shot forth creating four arcs that entwined around my body. They snake their way up my arms and down my legs, all I must do is give the nod of my head and I float amongst them. A blooming flower myself.
Applause rang out from those uncommon with musical performances, but I do not mind. In fact, I laughed to the beat of my heart, which was increasing faster with the end of this song. For the next hour or so while I demonstrate my professionalism in wavering to the tune of Paganini's 24 Caprices I will amp up the spectacle before their very eyes.
Oh~ does it send a tingle from the groin and out. The mere act of basking in brilliant compliments and lovers of the art can get any man of exceptional talent excited. My fingers do not slip nor falter, otherwise, this pleasure would cease to exist within me. I am concentrated, utterly and eagerly, with my mind envisioning the notes and my body skipping to their demand.
'Ah~!' Sweat perspires from my forehead but was swiped away by the petals. Many may not know but using one's ability drains the person's stamina even quicker. It is just like running up a rather large hill. Wearing boots and dressed in appropriate attire makes the endeavor no easier but rather more comfortable. Playing this piece while using my ability is doing the same run but wearing winter clothes while forced to stare into the center of the sun, deadeye, in 80-degree heat. Although the struggle may be great and quite deadening by the end, with more practice one could become unstoppable. However, despite my ample control I do not admire such blasted heroes, nor their villainous counterparts perusing this world, bending it to their will.
Perhaps if my ability was stronger, my mind could have been corrupted just as greatly. Alas I was granted grace, remaining only a simple means of entertainment as well as wonder to the common folks. I see no reason for a great vision. No matter, for I am only alive in the heat of this moment.
So, let's end it on a stronger note than what has come.
"Hyah!" I cry out, swiping the bow in a frantic manner, releasing myself from the grip of the flowers. They return back to swirling in circles while in the final caprice I light them afire, canvassing this grand hall in a blazing glow. I only hope someone was recording. If someone were to, then I could watch it with my Pa.
Re-experiencing the moment when these theatergoers' eyes alight in the flame of Hell. How they would seem burning through the shining glass. Skin torn and bone ash while their features transfigured. Maybe then they would get a shard of the reflection I see when I look at my Pa.
Pa would hate it if he heard these thoughts that still wandered about every now and again. But I simply can't help when looking at these swine. The fat that chow on the candy treats they bring with them to watch a teenager struggle. The old who bump and wave to the tune while their young wives also bump and wave, and the wicked who snarl behind the curtain counting the money subsequently reducing the cut that I'll be taking away today.
Complainers without any doers. The lot could be burned still only making this place a single inch cleaner.
"Hah…" I sigh, having finished the fifth caprice. If stronger, if grander, if larger, if more influential, toppling these fools could be done with a wave of my hand. The world would undoubtedly divulge into the same hellfire but that may as well be our end with them running everything. Only now, that Hell was extended, for they fear it may come while they live.
Dead, they do not care nor matter for the lives left behind. The old never learn from the past yet the new are complacent with the old. A society that has been left at a standstill for decades worshiping idle champions.
"Boo! Keep playing!"
"Yah, get on with it, mutt!"
"We've come to see you entertain us, not stand idly by and gargle on your sweat, filthy pig!" The crowd bellowed in disapproval along a growing tsunami of complaints.
I smiled to myself, all too used to this kind of treatment. "Hmm… it's been a second or two since I've stopped playing. Guess the rotten need to have something to scarf down." Clearing my throat, I took a sip from the bottled water on the stool beside me. I pull the bow and violin back to their starting positions. "Now... to the sixth." I muttered with a raspy breath.
…
After the concert, I take my leave backstage making away with the measly five hundred dollars given, not even enough to cover for rent that month. The money may help but with economic inflation rising higher than ever this type of money may last only a week and some days, considering how I ration it.
I give my best intimidating expression at the Weasley man with a belly large enough to bounce with every breath. A feature outdone by his portly height allowing for a succinct punting. However, the man only laughed, flattening his line of hair with the back of his hand. "That baby face of yours couldn't be any less intimidating, kid. But nice try. Maybe next time I'll give ya a few more bucks for the attempt".
He chuckled as I walked away, apparently satisfied with my failure.
"Welp, back to the cashier then." On weekends and any other day without a concert, I dedicated my time to a cashier's job at a tattoo parlor. It was local, nearly opposite of a line of chain restaurants that lay near the humble dingy apartment where I found respite.
I pulled on my beige coat having noticed the rain which clogged the streetlights of their splendor. The back depicted the hurt of a downward slash caused by a mugging. The slash offset a patch of some skull and two bones.
'It's been a while since I talked to the boys.'
A past not long foregone made home for me in the various under dwellings of the city. Such a life lasted for some time before Pa put an end then we left. Even then, I made sure to stay in touch with the members every so often. Afterall, they had saved us no matter what the cost incurred.
I set off outside the theater and down the trash filled alleyway. The theater graciously told me about this shortcut in order to protect their entertainers.
'Bullshit.'
They just didn't want my poor state to be seen by the customers. All these negative thoughts and worrisome expressions only served to foul my mood further into the gutter I stood in.
'SLAP!'
I clapped both my hands to the sides of my face, throwing the thoughts away, hopefully to think of the good. "That's the way. Just gotta think about the good. All that bad is like a poison, just like what Pa said." I throw my arms up imitating a marching band member's strut all the while plastering a grin on my face. Even in the evenings with all the smog of the trucks and designer cars, the musk of the waterfront and the shellfish that clung to the docks could be smelled infesting the world with its sickening taste.
When I first moved to this town, I wouldn't necessarily say I loved or even liked it…
In fact, it was the most disgusting scent I had ever had the displeasure of experiencing in my life. However, over time its acquired ambrosia was recognized as a thing of nature and nature is in fact beautiful.
'There's one positive ya bastard! Ha!'
'Clomp! Splash Clomp! Splash!'
I briskly turned around to see a boy dressed in a tuxedo with an assortment of gold earrings in both ears. His face was filled with baby fat and childish whiskers speckled his chin. A plain brown that was both deep and rather emasculate wavered in and out in the expanse of his sockets as if the boy was about to lose consciousness. Then, the hair. The boy's hair was parted down the middle and undoubtedly done with the assistance of his mother or maid.
'My bet's on the latter.'
His hands held onto what looked like a school's notebook laden with stickers from various engineering programs to be outdone by larger emblems from debate events.
"Hey, there kid. Is there something you want?" I asked meanwhile fiddling with the innards of my pocket wanting nothing more than to be gone for home. Pa was surely almost back.
The kid didn't speak because his lips trembled and obvious embarrassment plagued his face, but he did fumble for a pen that fell into the crooked tiles of the alley. I understood when I saw the pen but decided to let the boy struggle a little more. It brought a laugh to my lips that I accidentally let out.
"HA!" I clutched my stomach trying to stop it from happening further but could not. I waved him to come closer saying, "It's ok, I get it." Picking up the pen from the ground I flipped it around then clicked the end producing the inked tip. "Want an autograph, don't ya?"
The boy shook his head around in approval which subsequently roused his hair and flew it about. I took hold of his notebook then stopped in silent thought.
I had never written an autograph before. The closest I ever got was someone throwing a can at my head then yelling for me to sign that but that doesn't really count as an autograph, does it?
Therefore, in the span of three seconds I had come up with a brilliant signature that no other could confuse for a different artist. "Now that's what I call an autograph! Here ya go, kid. That thing will be worth millions in the future so make sure to hold on to it."
The boy shook his head again, making the same effect with his hair. I stared at this kid with his trembling hands stiffened their grasp on the notebook. It was both a harsh and gentle touch protecting what I had written inside. Despite my ill knowledge of him and that I had not seen him at the concert, I silently believed that he was an avid fan that looked up to me.
I dropped to a single knee rubbing my hand through his hair all the while puckering my face at the feel of the immense amount of gel in it. "Where's your parents? Should probably run off back to them now, I have to get going myself." The kid let his left-hand lift away from the book coming to rest lightly so that it plucked at the sleeve of my shirt.
It grew tighter… and tighter… and even tighter.
"Hey, you can let go now, kid. I can't stay with you; I've got important things to do." I held onto the boy's clenched fist trying to pry it off the shirt but was met with great resistance. This was not the strength of a child but someone much older and stronger.
Just before I could throw off his hand, I saw the boy's eyes become hollow with the skin from his face peeling off forming a puddle of peach-colored slop at his feet. The threads of hair wafted away in the wind leaving a clear skull in which new red hairs were slicing through the top.
"GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!" The child's response was a long-drawn-out groan accompanied by the expansion of his legs and spine toward the sky. His other hand grabbed onto my shoulder with a pressure that forced me onto both knees.
The child had grown monstrously in front of my eyes with such a horrific sound a person would question whether it was truly human. Snot spewed out from the nostrils and saliva from his mouth making that groan into a high-pitched gargle.
'Clomp! Clomp! Clomp!'
Pushing the thing away I jumped back toward whomever had come from the street then cried out, "Help me!" However, all I was met with was a gloved hand wrapped around my face and a needle inserted into my neck.
I became keenly aware of the effect this needle had on my body. The adrenaline from before dissipated in a matter of nanoseconds meanwhile a frivolous cold shuddered through me. From the shadows of an overflowing dumpster stacked full of bags, a deep tiredness weighed heavily on my eyes making the inevitable all the scarier.
The expectations of slumber dropped suddenly on my head bouncing it up from the initial impact of the tiled ground. A trickle of blood streamed down from my hairline to over my right ear. The one who had impersonated a child shrunk into a teen not much taller but with features scarred and uncaring. It was a distinct mask that I could never forget, even if I tried, because it contrasted that of his partner whose appearance was nothing but a darkening void.
They bickered without paying my body a second thought, simply being a slab of meat. Their lips flapped and a hole formed in the center of my attacker's face where sound must come from. I assumed they made light of the situation with how the monster's gut compressed then decompressed with oxygen as if he was going through an asthma attack.
Truth be told… I couldn't hear a single thing… This clammy touch of the excess from the above gutters to the and a smell that was quite like that of a stuffed pig being roasted on a fire were the few things I could settle for at that moment.
This place would be the end of me, and these two people would have been the last things I'd ever seen…